


the song(s) of purple summer: wendla/ilse drabbles

by loveinheaven



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artists, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Drabble Collection, F/F, Friendship/Love, Germany, Goodbyes, Love Confessions, One Shot Collection, Past Abuse, Random & Short, Rape/Non-con Elements, Short, Teenagers, ilse neumann - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-31 11:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13974411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinheaven/pseuds/loveinheaven
Summary: writings about my two favorite girls from the musical "spring awakening", inspired by songs. only the duration of the song in the title is used to write each piece. unedited and abundant with errors.





	1. tee shirt: birdy

 Wendla always seemed to have Ilse on her mind.

The sun that woke her up in the morning somehow reminded her of Ilse, the way she would always walk around with paint on her hands and love in her eyes. Maybe the love wasn't for her, but it was love just the same, and she never wanted it to leave her mind.

Ilse's bundle of flowers was the first thing to catch Wendla's eyes. The purple blossoms and white ones- what were those called- forget-me-nots? The name seemed correct in a way, because Wendla could never forget about Ilse. No matter how hard she tried, the other girl's face was always in her mind, somewhere. The thought of Ilse's lips on hers, the thought of her skin... the thought of  _Ilse_.


	2. fix you: coldplay

Ilse felt an odd brokenness deep inside her. It was unexplainable. She couldn't eat, sleep, think... she was not herself. Even making eye contact with the girl she knew she loved couldn't bring her solace, all because she thought their love was a waste. But when she was high, she was alright. So she continued to do that- to get high- so that she could relish in the feeling of her love for Wendla. Bottomless and filled with desire and truth.

Wendla noticed a difference in Ilse not long after she had decided to let herself become different. The song in her head, the songs the two of them hummed together, were gone. There was something missing from their relationship. An emptiness that had never been there before.   
  
With her hands in Ilse's paint, Wendla looked back at her girlfriend-if she dared to call Ilse that- and smiled. And a distant Ilse smiled back, and kissed her slowly. And Wendla kissed her back, her hands going to the other girl's hair, and suddenly her jawbone and her hair and her neck were covered in paint. And they had found what they'd lost.


	3. the a team: ed sheeran

Ilse's head was in the clouds.

The artist's colony was treating her wonderfully, for the most part. But there was something she couldn't quite configure, something she needed. She wanted to be with a girl from back home, though she knew it was wrong. She wanted Wendla, with all her soul, even though all the rest of the world screamed "no, no, not someone as delicate as her. You'll break her."  
  
Maybe Ilse would break Wendla. But she thought, in the back of her mind, that maybe Wendla  _wanted_ to be broken by her. There was something about the way her eyes widened every time Ilse came within sight. Or how she always played with the lace on her dress nervously when Melchior Gabor asked her if she  _really_ loved him.

She didn't  _really_ love Melchior Gabor. Ilse knew that for a fact. But she prayed, silently and hopefully, to the God she didn't even know existed until she needed him this badly. She prayed that Wendla Bergmann would find a reason to love her as much as Ilse loved her. And maybe she would.


	4. breathe me: sia

Wendla was strange.

Everyone agreed, too. She was strange for being so desperate for the things she was never brave enough to ask for.

She knew what she wanted. She wanted Ilse. She wanted Ilse to touch her, to hold her, to tell her she was more than a pretty face. She wanted to have a reason to  _want_ to take off her lovely lace nightgown, and not be afraid of ripping one of the stitches. She needed Ilse Neumann to be hers, and she only hoped it was requited.

\- - -

Ilse was bold.

Everyone noticed it, seeing as her desires were always out in the open and disclosed to everyone without a hesitation.

But Ilse wanted something she would never dare to say. She wanted to know what Wendla Bergmann's lips felt like. She knew it was a strange request, but she wanted so badly to know what the experience of kissing another girl would be. Specifically, she wanted to know why people thought it was bad.

The way Wendla looked at her, the way she felt whenever she was around Wendla... something that lovely couldn't possibly be bad.


	5. try: p!nk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR TW for graphic depictions of r*pe/sexual assault. please don't read this if it may upset you! I love you all, stay safe!

How did everything turn from beauty to hell?

Ilse would always ask herself that question. Laying in bed at night, she would look through her small window and wonder about the things that could have been if she were brave. She always remembered the days spent with Wendla in the sun, giggling and spilling paint and tossing flowers into the air with beaming grins. God, she missed it.

But now, here she was. Being touched by someone she didn't love the way she loved Wendla. She wished it was Wendla here, she wished Wendla was the one who she could fall asleep next to, not this man who was slowly tearing her life apart.

Hearing him whisper into her ear, "child, you're a beauty" was not the same as hearing the same words whispered against her lips by Wendla Bergmann, her soft lips so close to Ilse's own that she could feel electricity pulsing through them; so close that she could feel the vibration of words against skin, and it was beautiful, and she craved it.

She closed her eyes and imagined it was Wendla.

And then sleep found her, a thing for which she thanked God.


	6. jar of hearts: christina perri

Wendla and Ilse had never hoped for a child. But they had also never hoped to kill one.

It was too beautiful for them to let it die. So even as Wendla, crying, fell into Ilse's embrace and held herself close, Ilse didn't think to drop her and run. In the hayloft, the same hayloft where Wendla claimed that she and Melchior...

They didn't want to let such a beautiful thing crumble. But Wendla would leave the next day for her mother to force her to get rid of the child, the child Wendla wanted. The child Ilse smiled and suggested they raise in the artist's colony together.  _Together_.

Wendla was still sobbing by the time the sun fell below the trees.

"I don't want to leave you," she choked, tears falling like rain against Ilse's coat.

"But I have to go, love," Ilse whispered, a weak reply that she never wanted to give. "Come with me?"

Wendla left a note for Melchior in the hayloft.

_I went with Ilse. I wish to keep our baby. Visit me in the artist's colony if you miss me._

_I love you._

And she said the same words to Ilse, through her tears, as they began the walk to their new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this definitely does not reflect my stance on abortion, but rather, what I think Wendla and Ilse would have felt in the canon time period.


	7. stay: rihanna

(modern au)

They were young. Barely sophomores, barely knowledgeable of what they wanted their futures to look like. Barely true to any morals yet, because as children, they didn't know what they wanted their morals to be.

Well, that might be a lie. Because the way Wendla whimpered against Ilse's lips last night might prove otherwise.

They know what they want in some areas. They know what they want in terms of living in the moment. But when it comes to the future... not so much.

They aren't ready to plan their lives out. They would rather make mindless art pieces of each other's bodies in the moonlight, with Ilse painting all over her hands and arms and turning her body into a canvas, and Wendla photographing the beauty of it all to keep forever in her heart, and in her mind, and on her camera.

Wendla's laugh was something Ilse would never become tired of hearing. It was beautiful, and youthful, and unique in a way beyond compare.

Ilse smudged the paint on her hands, but Wendla laughed the way Ilse always liked to hear, and photographed it anyway.

Their future was uncertain, but right now? It was incredible and messy and unforgettable, and though it was a tragedy as well, neither of them would trade it for anything.


	8. stay with me: sam smith

Wendla and Ilse woke up after a night of laughter and joking and finding cute little ways to twist each other’s hair into braids, mysteriously entangled in each other's arms.

Ilse was the first to open her eyes, though Wendla was aware of what was going on. Wendla, who had her head comfortably resting against Ilse's chest, pretended to stay asleep in hopes that Ilse would let her lie there a little longer.

Ilse turned a pale shade of pink at the sight of Wendla cuddled up against her, almost like she needed her. Which was strange. Wendla never seemed like she would depend on Ilse to smile the way she was smiling right now. But she had a placid look on her face that Ilse couldn't say no to.

"I love you," Ilse whispered against Wendla's forehead, pressing a gentle kiss there.

Wendla stirred, smiling sweetly.

"I love you, too," she whispered back, before allowing herself to drift back to sleep in Ilse's arms once again.

There was something beautiful about it- about the way they were around each other. And the way their first exchange of I-love-you's was given while laying together under a mass of blankets, but still holding to each other as if body warmth would be of any use.

Those thoughts were the last ones to creep into Ilse's mind before she, too, let sleep pull her under.


	9. love the way you lie: eminem ft. rihanna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another MAJOR tw!! do not read if violence might upset you. I love you, stay safe!

Wendla felt like Ilse was constantly lying to her.

Through her tears at night, she prayed that Ilse would finally speak to her about her feelings, and the life she was living, and the fight she was being forced to endure. Wendla, on one off occasion, happened to see scars lining Ilse's back when her dress came untied at the top, and she tried to put her hand on them, but Ilse jumped away.

"Wendla, what are you doing?" She yelped, attempting to pull her dress back together.

"Sorry- nothing. Never mind."

Wendla felt herself falling for Ilse more and more after that, thinking about what might have been. Thinking about how, maybe, she could feel Ilse's back for a reason other than wanting to touch her scars. Maybe she could touch Ilse, and Ilse could touch her, and  _god_ , she was so in love, which is why Ilse's pain became her pain.

Signing the cross over her head and shoulders to conclude her prayer, she crawled under the sheets of her bed and waited for sleep to come. But it didn't come. She lay awake, thinking about the flame-red marks lining Ilse's back, and how she couldn't do anything to stop them from multiplying.

She dreamt of Ilse being beaten before her eyes, and woke up with tear-stained cheeks.


	10. tonight i'm getting over you: carly rae jepsen

All her life, Wendla had been convinced love was bad. She didn't want to believe it, but her mother was so adamant that she took those beliefs to heart.

Last night, she did something with Melchior Gabor that she didn't know how to name. It was incredible, and Melchior had told her that he was in love with her. Wendla, in a moment of truth, said she loved him back.

Now she needed to erase Ilse Neumann's name from her mind.

It proved to be more difficult than it seemed, seeing as she was completely and totally in love with Ilse before she fell for Melchior. She spoke with Ilse about what Melchior did to her, and how she liked it, and Ilse reacted with more concern than anything.

"You mustn't let someone take advantage of you like that, Wendla. He was using you for pleasure, he does not love you."

Wendla denied it, she denied it, she denied it. Then, she accepted it. She accepted that maybe, Ilse was wrong.

She couldn't be in love with someone who did not want for her to be happy. So, desperate for a sense of finality, she cut the rope that was her love for Ilse, and instead allowed herself to focus on the already-fraying thread that was her love for Melchior Gabor.


	11. ocean eyes: billie eilish

There was an inexplicable sense of wonder about Wendla Bergmann. The way she held herself, the way she looked at the world... the way she had her heart so transfixed on a girl she knew she couldn't have. A girl she knew couldn't want her.

Ilse was something wondrous to Wendla. She was the only piece of constance in her endlessly-changing world, and Wendla would do anything to keep her there.

There was also an inexplicable sense of fear about Wendla Bergmann. A sense of fear that was obvious only if you looked her in the eyes for too long. One was capable of seeing deep into her soul, seeing so far down into her soul that they would understand her self-loathing for being so hopelessly in love with someone who would never love her back.

Melchior Gabor was who the world wanted Wendla Bergmann to love, but she refused. Something in her soul refused, though her mind longed for Melchior.

Wendla's soul longed for Ilse. That would never change.

There was an inexplicable sense of love about Wendla Bergmann. Love for Ilse Neumann; fear of loving Ilse Neumann; the wonder that could only result from being so in love.


	12. the scientist: coldplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for abuse, please stay safe ily

Wendla refused to push the thought of Ilse from her mind. She was sorry for never being able to stop Ilse's father from hurting her so many times, so badly every time. Though Wendla wished she could do something about the pain her best friend had to endure, there was nothing to be done.

So she resorted to trying to understand the pain Ilse felt by feeling pain of her own.

"Please," was the only thing she could choke out, holding the switch out for Melchior to take. He didn't understand why she wanted him to beat her, but it was all for Ilse. He didn't need to understand. Wendla's mind buzzed with questions that she felt could only be answered through the pain of the switch on her skin, drawing blood and making her scream out in agony.

When Melchior refused to hurt her, she couldn't fathom why.

"It would be terrible, hurting you-" he attempted to explain, but that was not enough for the desperate girl in the little faerie-queen dress.

"I know. It will be terrible," Wendla replied, knowing it was true. "But I need to understand. My life has been empty, and now that I know my friends feel this pain as well... I know I must learn to feel it."

And then time passed, Wendla's eyes filled with desperate tears... and then Melchior raised the switch.

Wendla thought she was ready to understand Ilse's pain, but she was nowhere near as ready as she believed herself to be.

When the switch hit her skin, she screamed out Ilse's name.


	13. you found me: the fray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh maybe a tw for like, brief mentions of abuse? also there's a mention of scars?  
> and um idk if mention of religion is a tw but there's that

Ilse Neumann thought herself to be an atheist since she was twelve.

God could not possibly allow someone to hurt her so badly, but then Wendla Bergmann reappeared in her life.

Why would any God allow someone so lovely to disappear for so long when she needed her the most?

-

Wendla Bergmann had always known herself to be a believer.

God had a firm grasp on Ilse, refusing to let her fall despite the pain she was enduring. Wendla knew that pain was not God's doing, it was the doing of something she could not possibly begin to comprehend.

Wendla found Ilse and wished, so badly, that she could allow her to understand just how good God was.

\- 

Wendla Bergmann and Ilse Neumann were laying together by the stream.

Wendla ran a finger gently along one of Ilse's scars, one that made itself prominent on her forearm. She looked at Ilse's eyes and noticed how empty they were, empty of hope and love and faith. Wendla was so full of faith. She wanted to help Ilse.

Nervously, Wendla kissed the girl she never thought she'd fall in love with. 

Even more nervously, Ilse kissed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao is the fray a religious band????   
> update: i googled it and apparently so. not complaining because their music is Very Good but for a secular gal i'm kinda shocked i didn't realize. whateva


	14. i’m still here: sia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god what did i do  
> MAJOR r*pe tw!!!! like even if you think you’ll be fine probably skip this chapter  
> it’s a fucking lot

Wendla was not sure who she was.

She was frightened constantly, caught in a war she never meant to wage. She had no weapons, no armor, nothing left.

Ilse was fighting to be seen as a functioning person in the colony. A piece of her regretted running away, but she knew she was trapped in this sex cult for what could very well be the rest of her life.

Ilse was not sure who she was.

Ilse missed Wendla. She wished she could be back at home, holding her best friend. She remembered the way Wendla seemed to fit in her embrace, and how soft her hair was, and how quietly she breathed when they sat and held each other by the riverbank.

But they weren’t in love. Love was for a man and a woman.

In Priapia, that’s all Ilse would know. Man and woman. Man, and her, though she never consented to anything they wished to do to her.

She’d learned that it was easier if she stopped resisting, and closed her eyes, and thought back to the days of holding Wendla by the riverbank. Those times were more peaceful. 

The peace helped to keep her present, but just disconnected enough that she could ignore the way the men said her name. Her name didn’t belong to them, only to her.

Somehow, though, she didn’t mind when Wendla said her name.


	15. (atlas:body): sleeping at last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> modern sixth-grade au!!!

Ilse was in love. She was hypersensitive to everything, and could not explain why she felt the way she did. She hated it, though.

She hated that she was a _lesbian_. The word sounded wrong to her. Even at the ripe age of twelve, she knew who she was and hated herself for it. She wanted out of this awful situation, this awful joke of an existence.

But then there was Wendla.

God, what a lovely girl. A girl so lovely she wished she had a script so she wouldn’t fuck up every time she spoke to her.

At recess, the two of them would tend to swing on the swings together while the other girls congregated under the rockwall to discuss the boys of the sixth grade. 

Ilse knew she was different. She knew there was something magical about Wendla.

There was magic and stardust and beauty running through Wendla’s veins. Ilse knew it. Even at twelve, she could feel the stardust radiating from Wendla’s body. From her words. From every single thing she did.

The two of them would sit and read together during silent reading time. No words would be exchanged, but they could feel each other and that’s all that mattered.

Ilse could feel the magic in Wendla’s presence, and it brought her peace.


	16. when the day met the night: panic! at the disco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a BIG trigger warning for very blunt mentions of r*pe.  
> skip this chapter if u need. stay safe loves <3

Ilse was pitch black inside.

There was something about her childhood. Her life was dark, with no room for light or sunrise or warm tea or bright flowers. 

She was molested for the first time before she could even form a sentence. She didn’t have the energy in her to find light.

Then she met Wendla Bergmann, and Ilse’s heart bloomed with life and suddenly, her formerly dark and wintery existence became an incredible montage of spring and summer and sunlight and sunrise and promises never to be broken.

Summer would never end.

Ilse never thought her life would turn around, let alone turn into something so incredibly beautiful that she forgot all about her past for a moment or two. Wendla made it possible for her not to fear being touched at the waist.

Wendla turned the word ‘beautiful’ from a twisted and ugly phrase into a term of endearment and love. No one but her father had ever called her ‘beautiful’ before kissing her the way he always did. No one but Wendla, right now, who said just that and though it made Ilse jolt a bit at first, she was content with it.

Ilse kissed Wendla back.

Her Purple Summer was infinite. She was beautiful. Her skin was golden.

She and Wendla glowed as petals fell around them. 

Surreal, isn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s been a while but i’m not dead :)


	17. no ordinary life: gayle skidmore

There was never any fear in Wendla’s life. Fear of small things, maybe, like whether she had outgrown the dress that made her feel like a little fae, but no fear of real things.

It was as though her life had managed to occur while Wendla was trapped inside a glass box, staring out into a hazy world that she could only experience through a barrier.

Ilse wished she was Wendla. Wendla wished she was Ilse.

Wendla didn’t know the pain Ilse had endured in her short life. Only fifteen years and Ilse was already a woman in her soul, whereas Wendla was still a girl, and likely always would be.

Ilse wanted Wendla’s naivety. Wendla wanted Ilse’s worldly experience and wisdom.

Ilse was not wise. She only presented that way. She was really, truthfully, much more afraid of life than most people would be. Her heart was fragile as glass, fragile as the glass box that Wendla seemed to be stuck inside.

Ilse would shatter her own heart if it freed Wendla. The two of them were so different, yet so intertwined and similar and they were one in the same. The similarities between them were so abundant that it was nearly impossible for them _not_ to fall for each other.

There was beauty in both of them. Both of them were ashes and shards of glass and broken, battered hearts. 

Then again, beauty is found in the most unexpected of places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this song is fucking gorgeous please listen to it. it’s like... imagine a cute coffee shop in the middle of an arts district but it’s raining outside and you’re there with your sisters.  
> basically a modern adaptation of little women.  
> ...which is the soundtrack that this song is from. good job to me. i’m so good at explaining things :)


	18. swans: the format

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: mentions of suicide and guns

Wendla wanted to run away to the colony with Ilse from the moment she heard that Ilse planned to leave.

Priapia.

Even the name sounded surreal to Wendla’s innocent, untainted mind. She wanted to pack her bags, but she couldn’t think of one thing from her current life that she’d want to take with her. She only wanted herself there, herself and Ilse.

Wendla’s life was far from perfect. This was a fact, and so she chose to create something new for herself.

Ilse had already done so.

She’d already packed her bags once, twice, thrice, and unpacked anything she thought she could live without. Anything that reminded her of her father would stay, anything that inhibited her wild, bohemian lifestyle wouldn’t come with her.

She’d made the choice that she was running away at midnight. Wendla knew of this, and her heart nearly broke at the thought.

She had to go with Ilse. She had to, or else she would be trapped in a world where she has to obey her mother and wear dresses that make her feel like a human girl as opposed to a sweet fairy queen. She couldn’t get paint on her hands or in her hair or kiss girls if she stayed.

She would run away with Ilse tonight.

Midnight.

She felt her heart in her chest. Beating loudly. Then it was in her throat. She wanted to go and the sun was already deep in the pit of the sky. She didn’t have long. It was already the middle of the night. Maybe not midnight, but it was late.

She grabbed her small bag and ran. She ran through the cold of the woods, to the exact place Ilse said she would meet Wendla to start their journey.

An escape, Ilse called it.

Wendla ran up towards the tree they’d agreed upon, calling out Ilse’s name, wondering where she’d gone.

She found her as soon as she approached the tree.

She lay, motionless. Her hair was strewn around her head. A gun was just out of reach. Despite the bullethole in the side of her head, she somehow looked serene. As though even in her death, she viewed it as a peaceful escape.

_Ilse would see it that way,_ Wendla thought.

In her hand was a note _._

_“I love you, Wendla. You’re my swan. Beautiful, and perfectly made. I’ll see you soon.”_

Wendla wept.


End file.
